


Puppets

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Confusion, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, possible unsatisfying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: Ed goes to Oswald when he needs help and is too thick to wonder why. Or maybe isn't.(takes place between 505 and 506, canon divergent-ish)





	Puppets

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a trade w/ my friend Sam who drew me foxma :D! I never posted it, though. But I am now. Because <s>it feels complete the way it is and if i don't post everything i have for gotham soon i never will</s> I cAN.
> 
> Takes place after 505. I also wrote it before 506's release, so it doesn't quite line up with canon. I don't really "get" Ed being that upset about dead people, even a bunch of them, after everything we've seen of him in the past, but he was in 505 so I ran with it for this.
> 
> It's proof I tried nygmobbing one time. I wanted to end this with something deeper, but I also just sort of feel like I see their relationship progressing really, really slowly after all they've been through and all they have to sort out. They can kiss after 511.

He’d woken up in a lot of unsavory places, but despite the frequent cloud cover in Gotham, this was the first time he woke up in the rain.

In a puddle, in an open lot, the downpour so heavy and mist so thick it was unlikely anyone could see him lying there from more than ten feet away. It was probably the only reason he was still alive. His head ached like hell from Strange’s surgery. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second was that his hands were wet. All of him was wet— he was soaked to the bone, but something about his hands felt—

—he rubbed his thumb and finger together and it felt slick, smooth. The smell was too familiar. He looked down at them but his glasses were so fogged that he couldn’t see much more than a dark, blurry shape in front of him. He sat up quickly, took them off and rubbed his sleeve against the lens, quickly putting them back on and holding up his hand again. He suspected as much but still gasped when he found thick red smeared over his fingers, dripping down his wrist. Whatever he’d done he must’ve only done it seconds ago.

He looked around. His glasses were already starting to fog again but he didn’t see any dark shapes next to him. No bodies, none lying on the ground nor trying to escape. He looked down at his hands again, struggling and panicked as he pushed himself to his feet. He was no stranger to having blood on his hands. But he’d never imagined the horror of not knowing whose it was, or why it happened. The last thing he remembered, Jim Gordon and his new sidekick found him with Strange.

Was it Strange’s blood? Jim’s blood? Neither should have bothered him as much as the thought of it did. Distraught and with no shortage of disgust and panic, he started shaking his hand, holding it out to the rain to wash it off, wiping it on his pants. _Get it off, get it off, get it off…_

He was being used, and now he knew how but he still didn’t know who had the keys to his head.

_His head._

There was a microchip in his head. Staples too, and he could feel the sting of them, feel the rain drops pelting against the crease where Strange had so half-assedly put his head back together. He’d been through a lot of shit, but this…

For all he knew he’d massacred another settlement.

Just a few meters away he could see what appeared to be the generously sized overhang of a hopefully abandoned building. He hurried to it, still shaking his hands as he moved. Once he got under it he released a sigh, and hugged himself. His hands were mostly washed clean by the water, now, and at least he wasn’t being pelted with raindrops.

He took a deep breath. Where to next?

He could go to the GCPD. Jim knew he was being controlled now, knew what to do to stop him. But then again, did Jim Gordon, after all he’d lost, really have the medical resources or personnel to safely crack open his skull again? It hurt. It hurt where Strange had put him back together. He had an exceptionally high pain tolerance but this was so prominent it screamed like something he couldn’t ignore.

There was no part of him he valued more than his mind, and now there was some foreign object in it. After all that, was he really going to trust Gordon and his people with it too?

What other option did he have?

He blinked, eyes on the ground. The puddle a few yards in front of him had been riddled with ripples from an onslaught of falling raindrops but now it was much calmer. Looking around, he noticed the rain had let up quite a bit. Just in time for him to find shelter from it, of course.

It didn’t take long for him to realize where he was.

He knew the city well, and even if he didn’t, he’d been here just the other day. Or was it earlier that day? Hell if he knew how much time had passed.

City Hall was only a block away.

His eye twitched, and he looked down.

_…your enemy._

Oswald had bullets. Lots and lots of bullets. Not access to any particularly impressive medical expertise.

_…as a friend._

He jammed his index finger and thumb into his eyes, pressing in deep and rubbing as he took a deep breath that would have been a groan had he felt less exhausted.

It didn’t make sense. Oswald couldn’t help him, not directly.

But he might have some connection to someone who could. He was exhausted, for whatever reason, felt so spent he might pass out. In truth he wasn’t sure he’d even make it to the GCPD without a much longer nap.

He pushed weakly off the wall, shoved his glasses up his nose with his wrist, and without taking his eyes off the ground, made his way south alongside the building.

o-o-o-o

It was almost night time when he arrived. Slinking around behind city hall in the last few minutes of twilight, expecting not to get captured or shot. He didn’t have a plan. Why didn’t he come up with some kind of plan? He didn’t want to talk to Oswald’s stupid fucking guards. And by the looks of it, they were doubled at night.

Still, he found a way in last time, and Oswald hadn’t exactly discovered what it was to board it up. He was lucky enough to get in the same way.

It wasn’t until he was inside that he realized he was foolishly unarmed.

How could he possibly have been unarmed when he’d just stabbed or shot someone? Certainly, he’d achieved physical feats while under the control of whoever the hell was holding his leash that he didn’t know he could. But he was fairly certain he was incapable of ripping someone’s throat out with his bare hands.

The thought made him want to gag.

He passed a storage room. He didn’t normally take pain pills but the prominent stinging at the back of his head made him want to try and ransack Oswald’s medicine cabinet. Still, he resisted.

He’d gotten through a few halls undetected before the whole thing started to feel too easy. He wasn’t even trying. Where the hell was everyone?

He kept moving. Even the main hall was empty, and that was where he’d found Oswald the last time. The dog’s bed was empty as well. Not a single living thing…

“Ed?”

He released a sigh at the sound of the familiar voice from above. It had almost made him jump, but the concern in it made him want to either punch something or curl up into himself. He was so fed up with this.

“You were shot?” Oswald’s voice was coming closer, Ed was sure he was descending the stairs. It was a little funny, considering the last time he was here he’d had a gun and was practically threatening to shoot Oswald. Now Oswald was just tittering down the stairs like a worried old woman as if something were amiss and—

“What?” Ed looked up at him, just then realizing what he’d said.

Oswald stopped at the foot of the stairs, and pointed to Ed, his hand shaking ever so slightly.

Ed looked down to where he was pointing, at his right shoulder. Blood.

He turned his hands over and looked down at his palms.

_Oh._

It had been his own blood. The pain in his head must’ve drown out the pain from the bullet wound. But he was still losing blood. No wonder he felt so exhausted, so off his game.

He looked back up at Oswald, suddenly feeling a little like he needed to lie down.

“Did you find Strange?” Oswald asked, voice plenty alert. “Was it him?” Oswald continued.

Ed started toward him, dragging his feet. Oswald sounded so interested. The last time Ed saw him he was overhearing Oswald tell his men to grab him to hand him over. That seemed funny now. His lips twitched at the corner and snorted out a laugh.

“Ed!” Oswald sounded frustrated now. “I don’t see anything funny about you bleeding all over my floor!”

Ed didn’t answer, he was too close, and it was easier to shut Oswald up just by falling against him and making him catch him.

He did.

“Ed?”

Ed breathed in deeply. Some part of him was screaming at him for how much he allowed himself to enjoy being held in his arms again. But that part felt far away.

He didn’t know who he was. Now more than ever. But this…

“Ed…” It wasn’t a question anymore, more like a plea. Oswald’s arms wrapped more tightly around him, ever so slightly. Ed was bleeding on his suit, but he was sure Oswald was failing to be concerned with it. They were both making some exceptions for the time being.

“Ed, we need to get you some help…” Oswald sputtered out, trying gently to push against his shoulders to hold him back. “You’re bleeding, soaking wet, and you seem kind of…” Ed obliged, and looked Oswald in the eye. Oswald didn’t look back into his, “…delirious,” he was looking straight at the ground, mouth shaking like he was the one who’d just been lying on the ground in the rain.

Ed took a deep breath, looking down at his shoulder again. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Pretty sure the bullet went right through. I just need some bandaging, and that’s not really why I’m here.”

Oswald seemed impressed that he was forming coherent sentences, and the worried mother hen look toned itself down a few notches.

“Why, then?” He asked.

“There’s…” it took a moment for him to remember. “…some kind of microchip in my head,” he strained his brow as he felt like shit just talking about it. The reality of it was currently unwelcome. “I thought you might know someone who can get it out.”

Oswald just looked at him for a few moments, maybe a full minute. He was still close, though Ed wasn’t sure when he’d stopped leaning on him. 

“Okay, but first sit down. Let me get something to deal with that mess for now,” Oswald gestured toward the wound on his shoulder.

Ed did as he was told, and sat down as he watched Oswald hurry off.

o-o-o-o

It was surprisingly relaxing, lounging there on one of Oswald’s surprisingly comfortable stylish chairs with just an undershirt on while Oswald Cobblepot himself wrapped him in bandages like he didn’t probably have his men tie his shoes and pluck his eyebrows every day.

Ed giggled.

Oswald’s eyes shifted from his work to Ed’s face for the first time since he started cleaning it, however many minutes ago that was.

“What the hell?” Oswald grumbled, frustration apparent.

“Nothing…” Ed pursed his lips, forcing a frown.

“You need rest. You’re acting like a complete—,” Oswald cut himself off like he didn’t know what word to use.

“Spazz? Whacko? Lunatic?” Ed offered.

“Idiot.” Oswald supplied and Ed stuck out his bottom lip and glared. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.

“As long as you stopped the bleeding I should be back to normal in no time,” he said, because it just seemed rational. Probably the truth.

“Great,” Oswald replied, sarcasm apparent, and Ed snorted.

He looked down at his hands again.

It had been his own blood. That was the only explanation considering it was so fresh and he’d woken up alone. That didn’t mean he hadn’t killed anyone else, but at least the evidence wasn’t lurking under his fingernails. It was a relief. Strange to feel relief for having been shot, but he’d scarcely been as thrown, as panicked, as ashamed and lost as he had been when he realized he’d been the one responsible for the mess he saw at Haven. Worse, that he had no idea why, or on behalf of who.

Anything was better than feeling like that again.

“You can put that shirt on,” Oswald said as he was standing up, turning his back and walking a few steps. Ed regarded him quietly as he looked pointedly in the opposite direction, posture a little strained. His eyes shifted aside as he reached for the simple white button-down shirt. It wasn’t Oswalds, not rationally. They both knew from long ago that his clothes didn’t fit Oswald, so of course Oswald’s wouldn’t fit him.

Oswald was quiet until he was half-way through buttoning it up.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’ll look into someone to look at your head first thing in the morning, we’ll discuss how you can pay me back, but you’re…” he cut himself off again, this time like the words had gotten stuck in his throat. Ed waited.

“…you’re welcome to stay here for the night.” Oswald finished, seemingly reluctantly. 

Ed looked at his back for a few moments because he was still facing away. He wished he wasn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, uncertain as to whether it’s what he really wanted to say. He wanted this over and done with, but something told him he couldn’t demand more. Moreover, did he want to stay? What were they now? What would that make them?

“And Ed…” Oswald took a deep breath, and now he was turning to face him again. “In spite of everything, I am sorry this happened to you.” He said. Ed stared at him, waiting for more. “…Not quite the same way, but I know how it feels to be used, manipulated, hurting people against your will…” he took a deep breath.

Ed’s eyes shifted away, and he adjusted himself uncomfortably in the chair, shoving his tongue in his cheek.

“Not you!” Oswald said, quickly. “I mean, I didn’t mean you. Galavan…” he clarified, trailing off. Ed relaxed. That made more sense. A little surprising Oswald wasn’t using this opportunity to try and guilt trip him, but maybe he didn’t give him enough credit.

That was an odd thought.

He took a deep breath, forced himself to look Oswald in the eye.

“It feels…” the words caught in his throat. He wanted to trivialize it. _'It feels bad.'_ is what he wanted to say. But the word wasn’t enough. It felt worse and like more of a violation than anything he’d ever felt before and he couldn’t bring himself to express it as any less.So instead he took a deep, shaking breath, wanted to get up and leave, and—

Oswald’s hand rested on his shoulder, and he relaxed. It squeezed, and Ed’s eyes shifted to look at it for a moment with some discomfort at the familiarity. When he’d been bleeding out he’d let himself want it.

Oswald seemed to sense the tenseness and he removed his hand what may have been prematurely, and started to turn away.

Ed shot to his feet before he knew what he was doing, slapped a hand on Oswald’s shoulder and turned him around, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him. Oswald felt frozen for only a few moments before he relaxed into him, wrapped his arms around him too, held him tight.

Ed could finally breath.

“All those people…” He squeezed tighter, not bothering to stop himself from burying his face in Oswald’s collar. Oswald held him closer. Ed could hear his own voice shaking.

“I saw it,” he spilled. “I was at Haven, I saw the bodies, I saw…” _…tiny shoes, toys, a stuffed rabbit…_ “...so many people were dead...” he took a deep breath. “I did that…”

“It wasn’t you, Ed,” Oswald whispered gently against his hair, and Ed knew there wasn’t much more he could say.

“But in a way it was,” Ed tried to keep his voice calm, logical. He’d been thinking about it for the past day and a half. “Why did Strange choose me? I had to be the only one who could do those things and get away with it, keep it hidden. If it weren’t for who I am then maybe…”

Oswald’s sigh interrupted him.

“Ed…” Oswald patted him patronizingly on the back, “…plenty of people could have done that. Strange chose you because it was convenient.”

Ed didn’t know if he agreed, but he also wasn’t sure whether he wanted to.

“…I shouldn’t have trusted him with you back then, though. I knew what he was…”

Ed loosened his grip around Oswald, pulling back from him primarily because his glasses were falling down his nose and he needed to push them back up. Oswald released him in time with it, and even took a step back.

“…You were saving my life. It’s hard to complain,” Ed nodded sharply once his glasses were pushed back up and he found himself looking straight at Oswald’s face that was only inches away.

“Like I said,” Oswald shrugged as if trying to be casual, but he looked stiff as a board, “I needed you.”

Ed tilted his head just slightly to one-side, eyes shifting from one of Oswald’s to the other to search for something in them. It was something he’d never, ever find, even if it was there. He was too calculating to know something like that when he saw it.

Releasing a reluctant sigh, almost a surrender, he leaned in, barely having to stand up on his toes at all to push his lips lightly against Oswald’s forehead.

He could hear Oswald’s breath catch in his throat. Ed dipped his head and turned away.

“Just tell me where I can sleep,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. He took a deep breath, and looked back at Oswald, who was standing contemplatively still in the same place. “Maybe somewhere with a steel door that locks from the outside?”

**Author's Note:**

> :0


End file.
